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This will not be contained within my borders. 
This will splash out onto the sand and the rocks and leave a mess behind
of shells and glass that have broken in grief's
wake.
After the flood has passed, the waters calmed,
the deepest earthquake's core shift realigned, or
at least temporarily settled,
someone else might walk along the shore,
might find beauty in what was left over from my insides
being forcefully flung far and wide all over each way and sundry.
Someone else will consider my pieces, softened by repeated
abrasions, and put order to the chaos. 
"Look," that someone might say,
"I went for a walk and found all of these,
now together sparkling in a jar." 
at that time will I be able to see the beauty
in what had cost me all I once contained?